


Transfer Protocol

by shotboxer



Series: Taken in Hand AU [2]
Category: Primeval
Genre: AU, Dubious Consent, Legally mandated consent, Other, Spanking, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 16:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6666685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotboxer/pseuds/shotboxer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephen's adjustment to his new status begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transfer Protocol

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Primeval, its characters or anything else associated with it. I am making no money from this.
> 
> Spoilers: Discussions of the reveal at the end of Season 1
> 
> Please Note: In real life I only advocate spanking practiced between consenting adults. In fiction I read and write any and all spanking. This is a work of fiction and it contains spanking. Don't like, don't read. 
> 
> Any mistakes in British English, the portrayal of the British legal system or other inconsistencies are entirely my own. This fic was written to entertain, not to be an accurate reflection of ‘the real world’. There may be inaccuracies ahead. You have been warned.
> 
> This story is set in my Taken in Hand AU and follows immediately on from the previous fic, Courts and Contracts. 
> 
> For all the people who asked for more in this AU, and to see Nick and Stephen’s ‘reunion’.

Words floated through Stephen’s head:

“ _I hereby sentence you to become a disciplinary ward for a term of ten years_ ” . . .

“ _You will be presented to your Disciplinary Guardian and released into his or her custody_ ” . . . 

“ _Congratulations, you’ve beaten all the odds_ ” . . .

“ _Completely unprecedented for two people with a prior relationship_ ” . . .

“ _90% match_ ” . . .

“ _Are you going to tell me, or should I guess_?” . . .

“ _You’ve been matched with Nick Cutter_ ” . . . 

 

“Mr. Hart?  Mr. Hart?  Can you hear me?”

“Ergh.  Wha’. . .”

“You fainted, Mr. Hart.”  Stephen was too disoriented to get out the _Ya think_? in his head.  The Matcher kept talking, “I’m sorry, Mr. Hart.  The transfer of guardianship is stressful for everyone.  It’s completely understandable that you should react this way to having such an unusual match.”

 _Ya think_?  At least the guy had thought to take Stephen’s tie off. 

“Here, why don’t you sit up and I’ll get you some water.”

 _Yeah, you do that._   The man had to be new to his job.  It’d explain the slightly unprofessional level of excitement over Stephen and Cutter’s correlation scores. _Cutter_. . . Stephen had to put his head back down between his knees as the enormity of the news inundated him again.  

“Excuse me, the Matcher told me that I’d be meeting my handheld for the transfer and it’s been a while.  I wanted to check that everything’s alright?”  Stephen groaned.  “ _Stephen_?”

“Bloody hell.”  _Shut up Stephen, you sound like an idiot_.  Stephen kept his head down and closed his eyes.  He was afraid to look up in case he got dizzy again.  Having to face Cutter had absolutely nothing to do with it.  _Oh, stop fooling yourself, Hart.  You’re totally hiding right now._   Stephen clamped down on the urge to tell his own internal monologue to shut the hell up. 

Nick Cutter dropped down to sit next to Stephen on the floor.  He mirrored the younger man’s position, hands dangling down between drawn up knees, “I don’t think this is how this is supposed to go.”

“It isn’t actually.  It seems everything about this match is just shattering conventions left and right.”  Stephen couldn’t suppress a tiny smile when Cutter snorted next to him.  This guy was _definitely_ new to his job. 

“We might as well do it here at this point.  Mr. Hart, Dr. Cutter, please face me.”  Stephen lifted his head and focused on the Matcher, who was all business now that he had a script to follow. 

“Nicholas Robert Cutter, on behalf of the court, ADCA and the Matching Center, I present to you your disciplinary ward for the next ten years, Stephen James Hart.  As of this moment, Mr. Hart is in your sole charge.  It is your legal responsibility to oversee his actions, provide him with guidance as appropriate and discipline him when necessary.  Should Mr. Hart commit any infractions that require or precipitate involvement by legal, civil or governmental authorities, you will be held partially liable for his conduct and considered to have failed in your duty of care towards him.”  The Matcher produced a document on a clipboard with a pen stuck through the clip, “Please sign where indicated by the red Xs to acknowledge what I have just told you and to ratify the transfer of Mr. Hart into your guardianship.” 

Once Cutter had the clipboard in hand, the Matcher retrieved another clipboard from the desk, “Mr. Hart, please sign where indicated by the red Xs to acknowledge your transfer into Dr. Cutter’s guardianship.” 

Stephen took the clipboard and slid the pen out from the clip.  He was pleased that he was able to sign his name, in triplicate, without scrawling all over the page. 

The Matcher took back the clipboards, “Congratulations gentlemen, you are now officially a Match.  Your files have been sent to the Contract Supervision Division.  Here is your care officer’s card,” he handed a business card to Cutter and Stephen each.  “She will be in touch within the next few days to see how you’re settling in and set up an initial meeting at CSD headquarters. 

“You have the use of the matching room assigned to you for the next twenty four hours.  It’s stocked with the most common items you might need.  Food, drinks, implements, blankets and pillows and so forth.  There’s a menu of additional items you can have delivered to the room by the phone on the table next to the door.  Just dial zero and someone from Introduction Hospitality will get you whatever you need.  Special requests are welcomed, within reason.  Now I don’t want to be rude, but we do need the office for other transfers, so if you’d please make your way to your room. . .” 

The Matcher made honest-to-god shooing motions at them.  Stephen retrieved his tie from the floor, shoved it into the pocket of his dress slacks and climbed to his feet.  He trailed after Cutter under the Matcher’s impatient gaze.  He’d have hurried ahead except he had no idea where the room they’d been assigned was.  He scanned for the exits before he could catch himself.  He reminded himself that making a run for it was not only childish, it would be completely ineffective and quite probably illegal.  A cozy atmosphere in which to start ones’ lives as a Match wasn’t the only reason the transfer was supposed to take place in a matching room.  The other was to make sure no new handhelds scarpered in panic when they had the chance. 

Stephen glanced up to find that Cutter had stopped up ahead and was looking back at him with a playful expression, “Do I need to come hold your hand to make sure you don’t wander off?”

“Just you bloody well try it,” Stephen’s response was out before he’d even realized he was going to speak. 

Cutter pressed his lips together, “Enough teasing then.  I’m meant to be coming down on you for that last, at least according to some people.”  Stephen blinked.  Cutter didn’t sound like he was threatening him.  He sounded more like he was contemplating a philosophical question of passing interest.  Cutter shook his head, “People can sod right off as far as I’m concerned.  Now come on, we don’t want to be making a spectacle of ourselves out in the hall.”  He waited for Stephen to start walking again to turn and resume leading the way. 

Fortunately, it wasn’t much further to their assigned room.  Cutter opened the door and let Stephen precede him.  Which was simple courtesy and not a patronizing gesture at all.  _Settle down, Hart.  You can’t get your hackles up every time something like this happens.  You’ll be out of a contract and in a cell within the week if you keep this up_.  Stephen firmly shut out the voice in his head.  He did not need to be lectured from both inside and out, thank you very much.  _There isn’t any lecturing going_. . .  Stephen focused on the matching room. 

It looked like a cross between a very posh open-plan hotel suite and a hang-out space at a teen center with a penchant for encouraging dialogue through snuggling.  There were big, frosted glass privacy windows that still let in a good amount of daylight.  An open door at the back of the room to the left showed an en suite with a large tub and a smaller shower cubicle.  Across from the bathroom there was the standard desk next to a small table with two corporate-waiting-area-style chairs around it.  A king bed with what would’ve been a really extreme number of pillows in even the most upscale hotel sat in an alcove to the right, flanked by oversized bedside tables with two tall drawers a piece.  To the left were a large, overstuffed couch and a matching loveseat.  Next to the conventional seating, there were two big poufy ball-things that looked like a cross between a gigantic bean bag chair and a velour covered nest from a honeymoon suite.  The side tables flanking the couch were in fact large, low cabinets.  Stephen would bet his eye teeth that they were full of spanking implements.  There was no way he was going to test his theory.  There were blankets of different weights and materials draped over the back of all the seats and folded at the end of the bed.  Behind them, past the credenza by the door, was a large kitchenette with a microwave, a small gas stove, a toaster, a kettle and a full sized fridge and freezer.  The cabinets and drawers undoubtedly contained any plates, mugs and so on they might need.

“No mini bar,” Stephen commented wistfully.

Cutter put a hand on his shoulder as he came into the room behind Stephen, “Seems even the high standard of service provided by Introduction Hospitality has its limits.” 

Stephen startled hard at the contact but Cutter didn’t withdraw.  Instead he increased the pressure on Stephen’s back to guide him into the room toward the main seating area.  Before Cutter could push him down onto the couch, Stephen shrugged out from under his hand and turned to face his new watchover.  He made himself look directly at Cutter for the first time, “I. . . Thanks, I. . .”  He cleared his throat and tried again, “What now, Cutter?”

“Well now you start calling me Nick for starters.”  He raised his eyebrows at Stephen when no reply has forthcoming.

“Okay, um, Nick.”

“Okay, Stephen.  C’mere.” 

And then Cutter was hugging him.  Not a gruff, awkward hug; not an uncertain, boundary-pushing hug; not a manly, back-slapping hug; a warm, easy, strong hug that acted like it was the most natural thing in the world for the hug to be wrapping itself around Stephen and pulling him close.  Stephen’s body melted into that hug.  It felt _so good_.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a hug that wasn’t half wrestling match, let alone one half as wholehearted and unabashedly welcoming as this.  Stephen put his head down on Cutter’s - Nick’s – shoulder.  Unintended tears leaked from his eyes.  Stephen’s watchover didn’t say a word and continued to hold his new handheld close.  It took Stephen some time to stop shaking with silent grief.   

Stephen and Cutter finally separated and Cutter – _Nick_ – put his hands on Stephen’s shoulders and looked into his eyes.  “Okay.  We can stay here and discuss things if you like or we can go ahead back to mine and do it there.  It’s up to you.”

“Here is nice.  Seems a shame to waste it.”  Stephen wasn’t ready for the reality of going home with Cutter.  Right now was challenging enough.

“Here it is.”  Cut - _Nick_ \- didn’t let go.  “One thing first.  It’s been a long day so I’m going to shelve the conversation about rules for tomorrow morning.”  He squeezed Stephen’s shoulders, “There is something that we will be doing tonight.  I’m sure you already know the terms of the contract chapter and verse.  Even with the strict standards, an introductory spanking isn’t required.  But it’s a good idea.  Do you want to get it done now, or wait until I’ve gotten you back to the house and settled in?”

“I don’t . . . I. . . I guess I’d just as soon get it out of the way here.”

Nick nodded, “Alright.  I’m going to go ahead.  There’s no point in making you wait.”  He let Stephen go and pointed to the bed behind them, “Sit.” 

Stephen sat on instinct then just as instinctually began to rise again.  “Cutter, look, I. . .”

“Are a handheld - my handheld - who is about to be spanked.  It’s not the time to be pushing back.”

Stephen shoved to his feet, “I haven’t done anything yet!” 

Nick didn’t rise to the bait, “You damaged property, participated in a riot and created and fed conditions in which people were seriously hurt.”

“I _know_ that!  I’m the one who pled guilty to it.  I’m the one who agreed to be a handheld!”

“And I’m the one who agreed to be your watchover.”

“I didn’t ask you to!”

“Stephen.”  His new watchover stood there and looked at him.  Cutter’s expression was the same one he wore when waiting for a student to come to the right conclusion based on the evidence provided. 

Stephen’s bravado began deserting him.  He still felt the need to kick at the walls of fate.  “I can’t believe you’re going to spank me.”

Nick surprised him once again, “Stephen. This is how things are, there’s no changing that.  I can’t control how you react to this and I’m not going to try.  You’re going to be spanked regardless.”  His watchover pointed to the bed, “Sit back down and listen, okay?”  Stephen deflated down onto the spot indicated. 

“I am going to spank you, so you know what to expect when you’re in trouble from now on.  You can consider it a mid range spanking.  You’ll get harder or lighter depending on what you’ve done in the future.”  He stopped to gauge how Stephen was taking things.  Stephen clutched his knees with clammy hands and listened quietly. 

“This is how I will do things: your trousers will come down before you bend over; your underpants will come down when you’re over my knee.  I will start with my hand and end with it.  The only two implements I plan on using are the hairbrush and the slipper.  You won’t be getting either one tonight.”  Stephen squeezed his eyes shut in relief. 

“I will never go easy on you, Stephen.  No token punishments, no ‘swats off for good behavior’.  You break the rules and I will make very sure you regret it.  You will be crying when I’m finished spanking you. Every single time.” 

Stephen could already feel tears slipping down his face.  He felt like he must be drugged, or hallucinating.  There was nothing worth crying over.  This was a pro forma legal procedure between adults.  It wasn’t like it was his first day in prison.   

Nick sat down next to him and wiped the tears from his cheeks.  This was surreal.  Adults who weren’t related didn’t act like this with each other in the real world.  Most adults didn’t act like this even with their parents.  The law said he had to be spanked.  The comfort thing was only a convention, not a legal requirement.  Stephen was sure the convention wasn’t followed much, official guidelines and the standard reassurances mouthed by the ADCA bureaucrats notwithstanding.

Nick put an arm around his shoulders, “Spanking you is just one part of doing right by my handheld.  Another is caring for you and another is comforting you.  I will always hug you afterwards and comfort you however you need.”

“Whatever I need?”  That really did sound too good to be true.

“Whatever you need.  Hugs, cuddles, I’ll sing to you if that’s what you want.  I’ll make you tea.  I’ll rock you in my lap and read to you and rub cream into your bottom and tuck you up in bed for a nap and anything else you can think of.  I can take you to the gym to pound a bag or over to a shooting range if you’d prefer.  If you just want to be left alone, that’s fine too.  So long as it isn’t illegal or unethical, you can ask me for anything and I’ll do my best to provide it.”

“You can’t really . . . there’s no way. . .”  Stephen had no idea what he wanted, so how was he supposed to ask Nick for it? 

“Wait and see.”  Nick stood and pulled Stephen up with him.  He sat down in Stephen’s place and took his hand.  “You haven’t done anything as my handheld to earn a spanking yet.  But you did plenty to become a handheld.  Handheld’s get spanked on their bare bottoms.  Lower your trousers.”

Stephen tried to breath.  He could take this.  If he only stayed calm and followed instructions, it would be just another unpleasant task you couldn’t avoid as a responsible adult, like taxes or turning your head to cough or attending the mandatory fire safety training seminar.  Stephen shook his head.  Tears resumed without his permission.  He tried to raise his free hand to his waist but all that happened was a palsied twitch upwards.  Nick squeezed his hand, “I know you’re trying.  I’m going to take them down for you.  That’s what’ll happen if you can’t or won’t do it.  Stand still now.” 

Cutter let go of Stephen’s hand, reached up and undid his fly and zip and pulled his dress slacks straight down to his knees.  Stephen jerked away but Nick rose after him, grabbed his arm and hauled him forward by it until he overbalanced and went toppling over his watchover’s thighs.  Nick shifted them some, evidently getting Stephen into an ideal position.  Panic rose up in Stephen as the reality of that position registered in his limbs and his brain.  He had his hands underneath him and was pushing up from the bed when a hand hooked into the waistband of his shorts and he froze.  Nick’s other hand pressed hard between his shoulder blades, forcing him back down while the hand holding his underpants tugged and wiggled them down to his knees.  Nick spoke from above him, “Fight all you need to, Stephen, but this is still happening.” 

Stephen shoved up against Nick’s knee and his watchover grabbed him just below his elbow, pulled his arm up and back and pinned it at the small of his back.  Before he could fully process that sensation, Nick shifted Stephen’s legs off his lap, swung his right leg over Stephen’s knees and hauled him back in by his hip.  Stephen was now restrained over his new watchover’s thigh, unable to get away.  His bare bum stuck up above the rest of him, a perfect target.  Nick’s hand rested on the bare skin of his exposed bottom and Stephen lost it, “No, Cutter, please, I’m sorry, you don’t have to do this, I’ll do what you say and I’ll keep out of trouble, please, please don’t, don’t spank me, no, please, no. . .”

“Yes, Stephen.  You are my handheld and I am going to spank you.” 

Stephen heard the crack of Nick’s palm on his bare bottom a split second before the pain hit.  A split second after that another spank fell. “ _Noooooooo_. . .”

Stephen James Hart, new handheld, half of a Match with Nick Cutter, zoology lab assistant, junior Olympic shooting prospect, foolish young man, already sorry and increasingly sore, threw his head back and began to cry in earnest as he was given the first spanking of his life.        

 

Nick Cutter was glad for the intense training course he’d been obligated to undergo.  It had been comprehensive and very hands on, covering everything from legalities to culture to how to handle intrusive civilian ‘no-conts,’ to actual practice at administering all forms of punishment, with a necessary emphasis on spanking.  There was a sub-set of watchovers who were former handhelds or vice versa and many of them worked for the Training Program at ADCA in one capacity or another.  There were even some repeat offenders who had gone from handheld, to watchover, back to handheld and now served as practice assistants for the watchover trainees.

That had been the oddest experience of Nick’s life to date: being given a person to spank who had given him pointers beforehand and in the early stages and then engaged in a detailed post mortem on what he’d done right and what could be improved.  All of this in familiar concert with the trainer in the room, who had chimed in with tips and suggestions of his own, correcting Nick’s technique when necessary and coaching him on reading verbal and nonverbal cues. 

As was customary, Nick had been assigned two practice assistants, both of them selected to be as closely in line as possible with Stephen’s scores on the relevant parts of his assessment.  While Nick had not been allowed to see Stephen’s assessment until the Match was confirmed, the trainers and practice assistants assigned to him had read it and tailored their teaching accordingly.  Scrupulous professionalism aside, the accuracy of the match between Stephen and Nick’s practice assistants was largely a crap shoot.  Luckily, it seemed that in this case the match had been reasonably accurate.  Nick found himself able to handle having Stephen over his knees with, if not ease, then confidence in his ability to get things mostly right and improve rapidly. 

Nick had been informed that comfort was individual to each handheld.  He’d had some experience providing comfort during the training, but most practice assistants preferred to have a designated trainer come in and handle that part.  Although one of his assistants had been willing for him to participate somewhat and both had been happy to share advice during the debrief.  Everyone had said to trust his instincts.  And when in doubt to check in with his handheld and to ask for feedback once things had returned to normal.

Nick rested his hand just above Stephen’s knee and ran his thumb back and forth on his thigh while his other hand rubbed at the sobbing man’s back.  It occurred to him he should have had Stephen take off his shoes.  “It’s over now, Stephen.  You did very well.  Time for a hug and some comfort.” 

Stephen didn’t seem to register his words.  He just kept on crying brokenly into the duvet, the shaky, grizzling crying of the truly wrung out.  Nick reminded himself to trust his instincts.  He rubbed Stephen’s thigh more vigorously, “I’m going to pull your shorts back up.  Then you can come up off my lap and right into that hug.  Here we go. . .” 

Nick drew Stephen’s boxers up as promised and reached down to ease the younger man to his feet.  Or he tried to ease.  Stephen didn’t seem to get the memo that a gentle tug on his arm meant he ought to stand up.  Nick ended up toppling Stephen off his lap and hauling him to his feet by one arm.  He immediately pulled Stephen into a hug, murmuring apologies for the rough handling.  Stephen leaned into the hug, pushing his face into the space where Nick’s shoulder met his neck, still crying miserably.  Nick knew Stephen had had a very long day.  He contemplated the bed with its suddenly not-at-all-overabundance of pillows and decided getting them both up onto it was not going to happen.  He cast a speculative eye around the room and smiled despite himself.  So that’s what those monstrosities were for. 

Doing his best to shuffle himself and Stephen across to the seating area, Nick reflected that he really should have had Stephen remove his shoes.  Getting a crying, clinging young man to walk with you was hard enough, doing so when that young man had his trousers bunched around his ankles, trapped there by his shoes, was another thing entirely.  Luckily, the suite had been thoughtfully designed with the seating area and the bed close together, and neither Stephen nor Nick tripped along the way to the nearest pouf-nest.  Nick let himself fall backwards once the back of his knees hit the edge of the minky-covered squooshy seating element.  He toppled down, taking Stephen with him, and was pleasantly surprised when the pouf-nest welcomed them by molding itself to Nick’s back, giving way and providing support in just the right places.  Cutter made a note to himself to find out how he could get a pouf-nest of his own. 

Nick scooted back, getting his feet up into the nest and readjusting his hold on Stephen.  Stephen sprawled between Nick’s legs, clutching him around the middle and smashing his face into Nick’s chest as he continued to shake with tears.  Nick wrapped his arms around Stephen and ran a hand through his hair.  He reached up to snag a blanket from the upper lip of the pouf-nest and unfurl it out over them.  He tightened his arms around his newly-minted handheld and began to croon, “It’s alright, Stephen.  Everything is going to be just fine.  You’ll see.  I’m going take care of you.  Take your time, I’m here to hold you as long as you want.  You did so well, my held.  It’s going be okay, I promise. . .”

Stephen cried himself to sleep, sniffling as his eyelids drooped to the sound of his new watchover’s constant stream of reassurances.       

 

Stephen Hart woke to find himself curled up in Nick Cutter’s embrace, surrounded on three sides by soft, squishy, plush walls and covered on top by a warm, soft blanket.  Nick was murmuring something but Stephen was too fuzzy to make it out and not inclined to make the effort to listen closely.  Doing his best to stay within his warm, half-awake mental cocoon, Stephen took stock of his situation. 

The spanking had been horrible.  But Stephen was glad he’d gotten it over with.  He’d had potential consequences hanging over his head since he’d been arrested: the possibility of jail; of being left to rot in pre-trial detention for months; of failing to pass the ADCA assessment; of passing the ADCA assessment; of being given a zero tolerance contract; of having to relocate and leave his life in London because of his match.  Standing up in court and accepting his contract had not brought any relief. 

Instead Stephen had had new consequences hanging over his head.  Chief among them who he would be matched with.  This strict stranger who was going to rule every aspect of his life for the next ten years.  Stephen had been assured that life as a handheld would allow him to act mostly with autonomy and continue his life as he had before.  He had put that assurance into the same category of ADCA-mouthed platitudes as the standard line about comfort being de rigueur, if not legally required.  Nick’s spanking had given Stephen permission to cry out all the stress and tension and horrible unknowing he had been holding inside.  But those feelings hadn’t gone away entirely.  Not with the ten years Stephen had ahead of him.  Yet he felt much calmer and less miserable than he had in weeks, if no less emotional. 

As much good as that cry had done Stephen, Cutter had very definitely lived up to his word.  His new watchover had given Stephen a smarting, sore bottom to cry about.  And that had only been a _mid range_ spanking . . .  Stephen hastily turned his mind away from that thought. 

He knew this was better than jail, he _knew_ that.  Right now Stephen couldn’t shake the urge to dive under the bed and curl up into a little ball to hide.  Which he couldn’t do, just like he couldn’t make a run for it.  He was an adult, this was an adult legal arrangement he’d entered into, and he was going to have to buck up and handle it like an adult.      

Stephen groaned and began to stretch carefully.  Nick rubbed his shoulder, “Back with us?”

Stephen licked his lips.  His face was taut and chafed from dried tears.  “Um. . . I. . .”

“Did very well.  There’re still some things that could use improvement on my part, but I promise I’ll do my best to get them sorted.”

“You?”

“Should’ve had you take your shoes off, for one thing.”

“Oh.  Kinda awkward.”

“Easy fix.”

“’Kay.”

“Hmmm, that sounds like a Stephen who could use some more time cuddling.”

“No, I . . . we don’t have to.  I’m okay.”

Nick snorted, “You’re getting comforted regardless, so you might as well have it the way you want it.  None of this ‘I’m fine’ stiff upper lip nonsense.”

Stephen had a thought that his lip had been wobbling so much he couldn’t stiffen it if his life depended on it.  He twitched.  He did not want to be making jokes about this just yet, even in his own head.  _It was a pretty good joke, tho. . ._   This time Stephen had no qualms about telling his inner monologue to **_Shut Up_**. 

“That hit a nerve.”

“What? I . . . no, I, it wasn’t you.  I was talking to myself . . . stuff I don’t want to think about yet.”

“Brain getting away from you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well tell your brain to humor me and let you stay put for a bit.  Enjoy the cuddle while you’re awake to enjoy it.”

Stephen yawned, “Yeah.”

They lapsed into silence.  Nick’s hand moved to rest on his head then began to comb lightly through his hair, “That alright?”

“Guess so.”

“It’s alright to like it.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is.” Nick sighed, “Liking the comfort doesn’t mean that you like the spanking, or want it, or, or, whatever.”

“Got it.”

“If you’d rather have a cuddle some time when you’re not in trouble, it’s fine.”

Stephen didn’t say anything.  This was hard enough without giving Nick detailed feedback on feelings he himself didn’t understand.  The cuddle did feel wonderful.  For some reason that was not something Stephen could find it in himself to admit out loud. 

Nick’s hand resumed its stroking.  Stephen wanted to doze off but instead he was becoming more alert.  He fought the urge to shift for a while before giving up.  He released Nick’s shirt and carefully put a hand down to push himself up in preparation for exiting what he now saw was one of the pouf-nests.  His bottom twinged as he stumbled to his feet, almost falling over when the dress slacks still twisted around his ankles tripped him up.  Stephen gasped and couldn’t suppress an embarrassing whine as the movement brought his attention to the pain from his spanked bum.  He made himself take a deep breath, shuffle back a few steps and bend to pick up his slacks and return them to their regular place around his waist.  He had to suck in a breath and steady his hands to button up, but it wasn’t as bad as he was afraid it would be.

He looked up to find Cutter – _Nick, Stephen, it’s **Nick**_ \- studying him.  He turned and limped toward the en suite.  He expected Cutter to follow him or call out, but his watchover didn’t do anything. Stephen used the facilities, making sure he had zero chance of catching an accidental glimpse of his bum in the mirror, or any other reflective surface for that matter.  He washed his face and brushed his teeth with the new toothbrush and paste set by the side of the sink.  He breathed deep, told himself firmly that he was _fine_ and exited the bathroom with his head up and shoulders back.  Nick waved to him from the kitchenette, “I’ve got water on for tea.  Do you want water?  There’s soda and juice in here as well.”

Stephen set his jaw and practiced walking normally over to join Nick.  He retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge, chugged it in one go, set it aside, grabbed another and chugged half of that as well.  He cleared his throat and began to sip from the bottle at a more civilized pace.  Nick reached around him and withdrew three more bottles, setting two down on the counter by Stephen’s elbow and taking one for himself.  They drank in silence.  Nick finished his water and made himself tea.  He offered some to Stephen.  Stephen declined with a shake of his head.  By the time Stephen had drunk all his water, Nick was knocking back the last of his tea.  He set his mug on the counter and looked Stephen in the eye, “Do you want to stay here for the night?  If there’s nothing in the fridge we like, they do room service, or we can ask them to order something in for us.”

“Stephen took a deep breath, “Can we just go back to your house now?  Please.”

Nick nodded and slung an arm around Stephen’s shoulders, keeping him at his side as he led them out of the matching room, through the office and out to the car park and the HiLux.  Where the duffel bag Stephen had brought with him to the Center was already stowed in the back.  Stephen had forgotten all about it.  “My other stuff?”

“ADCA already had it moved to my house.  I put away the obvious bits.  Your clothes are in the chest of drawers and there’s a new wardrobe so you can hang things up.  I left the rest for you to sort out however you’d like.  ADCA settled things with your landlord, so you’re off the hook for the rent and you’ll get your deposit back.”

“Thanks.  And thanks again for doing this.  You didn’t have to. . .”

“Och, I wasn’t going to leave you out in the cold.  Or let you be matched with some government-appointed prat who didn’t know one thing about you and wouldn’t have the least idea what to do with your brain.”  _Ah.  Things were making more sense now_. 

Cutter must have caught Stephen’s expression because he stopped in his tracks and turned to face his handheld with a frown.  “You don’t think I signed on for all this just so I could keep you on as my assistant?  Give me some credit.”  Cutter pinched the bridge of his nose, “You do think that.  Stephen . . .” he shook his head.

Stephen held up his hands, “No, Cutter, look.  It’s fine.  I know we work well together.  There’s no reason we should give that up.  I’m just surprised you’d go to these lengths, after I slept with your wife. . .” he trailed off.

“Helen shouldn’t have been even thinking of pursuing a relationship with one of her students.  She was in a position of power over you as your tutor and she took advantage of that.  I let my grief get in the way of realizing that.”  Nick ran a hand over his face, “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since the funeral.  It does no good to sugar-coat Helen’s memory.  I loved Helen, but she was no saint.  If she were alive, we’d very well be divorced by now.”  Cutter blew out a breath, “What I’m trying to say is . . . I didn’t get a chance to tell you this before you hied off to that bloody protest and landed yourself in the middle of it, but I forgive you.  You’re a great friend to me and I want you in my life, contract or no contract.”  Cutter tilted his head and lifted of his eyebrows, “Besides, I’d say a 90% match bodes quite well for our relationship going forward, wouldn’t you?”

Stephen felt too morose to be cheered up, “Doesn’t bode well for my bum though, does it?”

“No, it does not.”  Nick Cutter never was one to mince words.

Stephen throttled down the sudden urge to punch Cutter in the mouth.  He needed to get himself together.  This was his life now.  He’d just make it worse by raging against the cage he’d put himself in. 

Stephen turned his back on Cutter, strode around to the passenger side and climbed gingerly into his seat.  Nick got in and waited for Stephen to put on his seatbelt before pulling out.  The drive back to Nick’s house - his house now too Stephen supposed - took a good hour in cross-town commuter traffic.  After about ten minutes of silence, Nick began to fill Stephen in on all the goings on in the department he’d missed while he was otherwise occupied by his legal troubles: who was locking horns with whom; who had applied for a grant; who had gotten one; who had lost out; what new aggravating thing the department head had done now, and so on.  Cutter’s descriptions were entertaining as always and his opinions pointed and apt, if not always entirely fair.  Despite himself and his discomfort, Stephen began to relax and enjoy the familiar gossip-rant as it went on. 

Once all that was worth mentioning in academic politics and posturing had been exhausted, Cutter moved right along to the newest papers that’d been published and how they had - or mostly had not - influenced his thoughts about what direction to take his own work in next, what expeditions to begin laying the groundwork for.  All of this he recounted as though Stephen assisting and accompanying him was a foregone conclusion.  Stephen chose not to question that assumption. 

The hour passed quickly thanks to Cutter and sooner than Stephen realized they were parking in front of Cutter’s house.  They exited the HiLux and Stephen retrieved his duffel.  Before he could move away from the car, Cutter stopped him with a hand on his arm.  His watchover fished in his pocket and drew out a set of keys, “For the front and back doors and the lock on the garden shed.  I’ve ordered a new key and alarm fob for the HiLux so you’ll have one of those too in a couple days.” 

Stephen, not knowing how else to respond, took the keys and put them into his own pocket.  He shouldered the duffel and followed Cutter into the house, copying him when he set his keys and wallet on the table in the hall.  Cutter placed his mobile on a charging station in the kitchen, a charging station with an extra port where Stephen could dock his mobile alongside. 

Cutter inclined his head, “Come on, your room’s across from mine upstairs.  I moved the spare room up to the attic.  I’ve been meaning to get it renovated for a while anyway.  It should do nicely for a work space once it’s finished.  The bath’s on the landing between the bedrooms.  The shower’s only a small one over a tub.  But the en suite’s got a nice big one and you’re welcome to use that when I’m not using it myself.” 

Stephen followed Cutter up the stairs and into his new bedroom.  He set his duffel on the bed and took in the room.  It was a large room, with two big windows overlooking the strip of garden along the narrow side of Cutter’s corner lot.  There was a table under one window with a desk chair.  There was even a tall bookcase to one side of the desk.  The promised chest of drawers and wardrobe sat across from the bed.  The bed was a queen with an old fashioned walnut headboard and a matching bedside table.  It was covered with a light blue duvet.  The floor space that wasn’t taken up by furniture was currently occupied by neatly labeled boxes that Stephen assumed held the contents of his former flat. 

Cutter sidled in behind him, “It’s yours now so get whatever suits you for sheets and curtains and put up anything you want on the walls.  You can change the paint too if you’d prefer something else.”

Stephen nodded dumbly.  The whole room was as big as his student bed-sit, only minus the tiny bath.  Being a handheld didn’t seem like it ought to come with an upgrade in living conditions.  He’d have to figure out a way to pay for a whole new set of sheets and such.  Queen sized was significantly more expensive than twin, even at charity shops.  At least his towels wouldn’t need replacing. 

Cutter glanced at Stephen and moved back to the door, “I’ll let you put your things away and start on the unpacking.  Take your time.  I’ll get dinner started.  Come downstairs when you’re ready or I’ll give you a shout when the food’s on the table.” 

Stephen stood stock still and listened to Cutter’s footsteps recede down the stairs.  He took refuge in practicality and began to unload his duffel.  Stephen made quick work of putting away his clothes and stowing his toiletries in the bathroom.  The majority of his wardrobe was already in the chest of drawers.  He moved on to opening the boxes and finding places for their contents.  Most of his things consisted of outdoor kit of various sorts and books.  Many, many books.  Plus some mementos from his trips to various places around the UK on holiday and a gap year backpacking around Europe.  Family photos and his laptop went on the desk.  Stephen made a note to himself to ask Cutter for the internet password, assuming Cutter had internet.  He was just bringing the flattened cardboard boxes out onto the landing when Cutter appeared at the top of the stairs, “Time to eat, my held.”

Stephen blinked, “My held?”

Nick actually blushed, “If you don’t like it . . .”

“I, no, it’s fine.” _Nice, even.  Really nice_. 

His watchover helped him carry the boxes down and out to the recycling bin.  Stephen came into the kitchen to a table already set, a big dish in the middle with a basket of bread beside it.  Cutter gestured for him to take a seat.  Stephen considered refusing or asking for a pillow.  He knew he wouldn’t always be in a position to do either, especially if he wanted to keep every stranger he ran into from putting two and two together and coming up with handheld.  He’d managed the drive back to the house alright.  Stephen took a breath and lowered himself into the chair indicated. 

Cutter continued on, “It’s from the freezer.  Two of the neighbors have allotments and Mrs. Pritchard – Lettie Pritchard - on the other corner has a vegetable garden in back so I’m gifted a lot of free food in season.  I’ve become quite good at cooking up stuff to stash in the freezer for the lean months. 

“This one’s a vegetable cheese bake.  The garlic bread’s from Mrs. Pritchard.  Nothing escapes that woman.  She found out that I’d be taking on a handheld.  God knows how, because I certainly haven’t told anyone a thing about it.  How she worked out today was the day of the transfer . . .” Cutter shook his head in bafflement.  “She brought round the bread this morning right as I was headed out the door. 

“There’s a tart for dessert too and scones for breakfast.  She’s making noises about getting a pair of chickens.  I’ve not doubt we’ll be up to our eyeballs in eggs and quiche soon.”

He took in Stephen’s look of gobsmacked apprehension and chuckled, “She has that effect on people.  Don’t worry, she’s a benevolent deity.  She can gossip with the best of them, but if it’s important you won’t hear a peep from her until whoever’s business it is says otherwise.  I expect you’ll get to meet her soon enough.”

Stephen made a note that he may just have found an ally in keeping his backside out of the line of fire.  Cutter - _Nick , he really needed to start working on calling him that_ – took his own seat and began to serve them both.  “Dig in.  I’m starving so you must be ravenous.” 

Stephen discovered that he was, indeed, ravenous as soon as the first bite had gone down his throat.  His appetite was very much encouraged by the deliciousness of Cut – **_Nick’s_** – creation.  By the time dinner was done, Stephen had gone back for seconds and then thirds and eaten his way through two thirds of the garlic bread besides.  He surveyed his plate and flushed, “I’m sorry.  I don’t know what happened.  Did you get enough?  I can make something if you’re hungry?”

Cutter shook his head, “Don’t worry about it.  I’m fine.  Some of us had lunch.”  Stephen flushed under his knowing look. 

“You wouldn’t have been able to eat in that situation either.”

“I’m aware.  That’s why I picked the veg and cheese one to heat up.  It’s more of a four person dish.  Plenty for you to have as much as you liked.”

Stephen flushed even more.  First his room and now this.  Not to mention the little accommodations he’d noticed,  like the new, two-dock charging station and the towels already laid out in ‘Stephen’s’ bathroom.  Come to think of it, the bookcase in his room looked new, not just the wardrobe.  Cutter had even given Stephen an affectionate nickname . . . 

Stephen jumped up from the table and began to clear the plates.  Cu - **_Nick_** \- rose and collected the remaining items from the table, bringing them to Stephen at the sink for washing up.  He picked up a dish towel and took up the spot beside his handheld, ready to dry.  He waited until Stephen had the water running and was working on the first plate before he spoke, “You alright?”

“No.  This is all. . .  too _nice_.  I’m a criminal and you’re  . . . _feeding_ me and buying stuff and giving me this huge room and I don’t know why you would . . .”

Cutter took the dish from Stephen and set it in the draining rack.  “Look at me. _Now_ Stephen James.”  That brought Stephen’s head up.  Nick was staring at him hard, “I am ‘being nice’ to you because I promised to care for you and that is what I’m doing.  I signed that contract because you are my friend and because you desperately needed someone to save you from your own idiocy.”  He leaned forward and his glare became positively deadly, “You are _not_ a criminal you are _my **handheld**_.  Is that understood?” 

“Yes.”

“You mean yes, Nick, I understand.”

“Yes, Nick, I understand.”

“Good.  Let’s finish the washing up. Then I’d say we’re both for an early night, wouldn’t you?”

Stephen yawned, “Yeah, I’m exhausted.”  He wasn’t sure what had changed just now, but somehow the surreality of his situation didn’t matter anymore.  Not when there was just him and Nick here.    

When the last cup was dry and sitting on the draining board, Nick set the dish towel down and gestured for Stephen to go ahead of him and followed the yawning young man up to his new bedroom.  Stephen turned to Nick in confusion, but before he could ask his watchover was pulling him into another big, unabashed hug.  He wished Stephen a good night, released him and excited the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.  Stephen barely managed to get into a pair of sleep pants and a t-shirt and crawl under the covers before he was going under, swamped by the rising tide of sleep. 

 

 

Stephen fought to stay calm as the correction bands were fitted around his wrists.  Three spankings, one for each of his infractions.  He was going to be spanked in open court, observed by any and all who wanted to watch. 

“Assume the position, young man.”

Stephen trembled as he knelt on the padded riser.  He lowered his trousers and bent over the disciplinary bench in front of the magistrate’s dais.  His arms were stretched out in front of him.  His chin fit into the curved rest that was there to force his head up and keep his face visible to the room.  Stephen watched as one bailiff came around the front of the bench and adjusted the mirrors on their tall poles, angling them so that the people behind him could get a good look at his soon to be tear-streaked face and the people in front and to the sides could get an equally good gander at his bum. 

The bailiff returned to stand in his place by Stephen’s side.  At the command of the magistrate his underpants were slowly lowered to expose his bottom to the room.  The bailiffs adjusted the wooden mechanism controlling the disciplinary bench’s position.  It clunked higher and jolted to tilt forward at an angle that forced Stephen’s bottom to present itself even more prominently for his spankings.  Another adjustment and the riser disappeared from under Stephen’s knees, leaving his legs dangling behind him as if they were hanging off the edge of a lap.    

The magistrate reached up and pressed a button on her own bands.  Her stern gaze bored into Stephen, “Well, young man?”

Stephen choked on the words, “I am a horribly bad, disobedient handheld, ma’am.  Please, ma’am, give me the hard, public, bare-bottomed spanking I deserve.”

The magistrate rolled up her sleeves and mimed resting her arm on the back of a body over her knee.  Stephen gasped as he felt a corresponding weight settle in the small of his back, distressingly larger and heavier than it should be.  She raised her other hand and brought it down as if it were resting on a proffered bottom.  Stephen’s stomach twisted as he felt a phantom hand contact his bum, easily covering both cheeks as if he were a small child over the magistrate’s virtual knee and not a full grown man who would tower over her if they stood side by side. 

The magistrate nodded in satisfaction and patted ‘Stephen’s bottom’ in the air above her knee.  Amused titters erupted throughout the courtroom as Stephen’s bum jiggled in response to the patronizing taps.  Stephen flushed bright red and fought tears of mortification.  The magistrate raised her hand high and brought it down in a hard arc, transfixing Stephen’s gaze as her palm neared the space in the air where his bum would be if . . .

Pain exploded across Stephen’s bottom, jerking him forward.  Stephen yelped.  Humiliation and pain and the feel of a large implacable hand on his bare skin flooded his senses.  His ears filled with the approving murmurs of the onlookers.  Stephen was getting spanked like a little boy and he pleaded like one, frantic ‘no’s accompanying tears from the first spank.  He descended into sobs by the third spank, into a full on howling, kicking mess by the seventh.  None of it did him any good.  As hard as he struggled and as high as he kicked, the phantom hand always found its target.

Throughout his public punishment Stephen’s eyes were forced upward by the chin rest, compelling him to watch the magistrate’s hand rise and fall onto his own bottom.  By the tenth spank Stephen’s vision was too blurry to notice more than the pendulum swing of her arm.  By the twelfth even that wasn’t registering through his tears.  Thirty very hard spanks later and Stephen was blubbering hysterically.  He was surrounded on all sides by strangers remarking freely on what they’d just witnessed. 

A din of approving comments engulfed him: 

My, how well spanked he’d been.  

And didn’t he deserve all of it.  

Congratulations to the magistrate for giving him exactly what he had coming. 

Remarks dripping with relish on his red bottom and his tear-drenched face.  

Coos of mock-sympathy over what happened to naughty little handhelds when they misbehaved. 

Gleeful chuckles reminding friends that the brat had two more coming to him, ones that’d make what he’d just received feel like real love taps.

The magistrate’s voice cut through the satisfied chatter, “Now that Stephen’s bratty little bottom has had a nice quick warm up, I shall give him the long hard spanking he so richly deserves.”  Her syrupy tone dripped with poisonous condescension, “What do you say, Stephen?”

Stephen was still sobbing desperately but the words were dragged up from his gullet like fish hooks, “I am a spoiled, ungovernable, worthless, naughty little handheld brat, ma’am.  Thank you for giving me the warm up I deserved.  Please, ma’am, spank my sore, red bare bum until every single person in this courtroom thinks I’ve been sufficiently punished.”

The magistrate’s hand rose even higher than before, past her shoulder . . . 

The crowd cried out in frenzied anticipation:

“Smack that bad boy good and proper, My Lady!”

“Give the nasty little brat something to cry about!”

“Don’t stop ‘til he’s purple and blistered!”

“Let’s hear him bawl!”

“Wicked, naughty brats ought to be spanked red raw!”

A chant rose up, _Spank his bare bum, spank his bare bum, spank his bare bum_ . . .

Other voices joined in, _Cherry red, cherry red, cherry red_ . . .

The magistrate’s face twisted in righteous fury as her hand whipped down. . .

 

 

“Stephen. . . Stephen. . . _Stephen_. . . **_Stephen_**. . . **_Stephen_**!” Stephen wrenched awake.  “You were dreaming.”  Stephen blinked up at Nick’s concerned face as he registered the sheets coiled in a knot around his legs and waist, the tightness in his face indicative of dried tears and the wetness of the pillow under his cheek.  “You were frantic, thrashing about, crying. . .” Nick sat on the side of the bed and placed a gentle hand on Stephen’s arm, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Stephen shook his head automatically then shrugged.  He wriggled to try and untangle himself from his percale prison.  He gasped wetly and closed his eyes as his sore bottom reminded him forcefully of its presence.  He scrunched his face up and fisted the sheet, doing his best not to break completely and start crying while he was awake too.  He felt Nick rise and then his friend was gently pulling the sheet away from his legs and smoothing it out.  Nick’s warm body slid under the bedclothes and settled down next to Stephen.  His watchover tucked the sheet and duvet up around their chins.  Nick lay on his back and didn’t say anything.

Stephen lay facing Nick and resisted the urge curl closer.  He listened to Nick’s even breathing and waited for the pocket of air between them to warm.  Nick turned his head to look at Stephen.  Their noses were inches apart as Nick reached over, took Stephen’s hand and squeezed it. 

“I was back in court.”  Stephen made himself breathe, “I’d done something stupid and the magistrate. . .”  He stared resolutely at the stitching in the duvet, “. . . I had to bend over in front of everyone and there were these bands on my wrists.  The magistrate had them too . . .”  Stephen squeezed his eyes shut, “I had, had to ask her to spank me after I, I said, after I said h-how bad and disobedient I was. And, and then she acted like she was smacking some little kid over her knees.  But it was me. . . I could feel it every time her hand came down an’ I couldn’t look away and everyone was laughing. . .”  Stephen pressed his face into the wet pillow, “I was kicking and crying and begging her to stop and everyone kept cheering her on. . . and then she said it was just a warm up and I had to say, s-say, an’, an’ ask  . . . ” Stephen couldn’t get anymore out. 

Nick turned onto his side to fully face Stephen and grabbed both his hands in a fierce grip, “It’s not real.  It can never happen.  Even if it could I wouldn’t let it.”   

He couldn’t look at Nick, “I know that.  It’s just been a really stressful day.”  Stephen was shaking apart inside but his body was rigid.

“More like a really stressful couple weeks.  Go easy on yourself.  It’s your first day as a handheld.  In training they told us the adjustment period can last up to a year.”

Stephen groaned.  His voice sounded distant as it replied in a normal, sarcastic tone, “Great.”

“Most get through it in a month, don’t worry.”

“Hurray.”

Nick huffed a laugh as Stephen somehow managed bone dry humor that time.  “It’s supposed to go faster the more you get in trouble at first.”

Stephen made himself breath through the dizziness and focus on his words.  “This just keeps getting better.  I don’t think you’re supposed to be encouraging me to bad behavior,” a bit rushed and breathy but still acceptably snarky. 

“I’m just telling you what I was told in training.  I definitely do not want you getting yourself in trouble.  For any reason.” 

Stephen jerked his chin down in an abortive nod and turned his back on Nick’s suddenly stern gaze.  He ignored Nick’s startled noise, wrapped his arms around himself and twisted the sheet in his fist.  He was being stupid and hysterical and he was _not_ going to cry again.  Nick was being completely reasonable.  Stephen did not want to get into any trouble either.  He’d already gotten in enough trouble to end up as a handheld.

Stephen cringed when he thought about the confident, cocky young man who had gone to that protest in the sure knowledge that he could handle anything that might come his way.  People had been hurt.  And Stephen had had a part in that.  The property damage had made him feel ashamed enough in the aftermath.  He knew just how hard those owners must have worked to build their businesses.  Stephen had watched from his place in the back of a police car as people who were bleeding, bruised and unconscious were loaded into ambulances and felt sick with remorse.

And yet when he’d been charged, as he’d waited in handcuffs in the interrogation room for his solicitor, Stephen had been filled with entitled anger.  He had been indignant that he was there at all, sure that he’d beat the odds and be released with a slap on the wrist.  He knew that, given what he’d done, a contract was the equivalent of a stern lecture and a week spent confined to his room, but somehow he _still_ couldn’t find it in himself to be grateful.  Or stop himself from being resentful that he had to sign a contract at all. 

 _What is **wrong** with me_? _Those people were hurt because of what I did.  People had their shops destroyed.  People were scared of me.  They were afraid I’d hurt them.  I deserve to be a handheld.  I shouldn’t be fighting this_!

Nick put a gentle hand on Stephen’s shoulder, “You know, my Gran told me something once, that I’ve thought about a lot since I applied to be your watchover.”

“I’m not in the mood for a bedtime story, Nick.”  _His watchover shouldn’t be trying to make this better_.

Nick ignored him, “She said that sometimes the worst thing about doing something wrong isn’t the getting caught, or the being in trouble, or paying for your mistake, it’s the feeling guilty and ashamed of what you’ve done.  And letting go of the shame and the guilt, that’s the hardest part of all, but it has to be done if we’re to move forward.”

Stephen didn’t pretend he didn’t know what Nick was talking about, “People were injured.  Some of them might have been seriously hurt, or, or paralyzed, or killed.  It was only luck they weren’t.  Those shopkeepers lost their businesses and some of them had been in their families for generations.  Because I was _stupid_ and _cocky_ and I _thought I knew better_! _I was **enjoying** myself!_ ”

“I know.  We’ve got ten years to work on that weight.”  Nick pulled insistently on Stephen’s shoulder, “Turn over and look me in the eyes while you talk to me.”

Stephen had lost the battle not to cry again and tears dripped down his cheeks as he obeyed his watchover, “I’m sorry.  God, I’m so sorry, Nick.”

“I know you are.  I’m here to help you with that guilt, and to keep you from making things worse for yourself.  We’re in this together.  I signed that contract just like you did, only mine said I’d guide you and care for you, and that’s what I’m going to do.  Okay?”

Stephen was too overwhelmed to do more than nod.  Nick pulled Stephen against his chest and Stephen burrowed right into the embrace and sobbed into Nick’s shirt for the second time that day.  “Things will get better, Stephen, I promise.”

When Stephen could talk again without hiccupping, he eased back so he could meet Nick’s eyes, “I  . . . I’m glad you’re my watchover.  I’ll try not to make things too hard for you.”

Nick shook his head, “You’ll make things hard for me and I’ll come down on you just as hard.  Why do you think someone as pig-headed stubborn as me got matched with you?” 

Stephen lips wobbled out a smile, “90% match.”

“90% match, my held.”  Nick squeezed Stephen and pulled away, “Time for some real sleep.  I’ll be back to join you properly in a couple minutes.” 

Stephen snuffled in surprise when Nick dropped a kiss on his forehead.  His eyelids drooped and he was already half asleep when Nick slid back into the bed and settled down beside him once more.  This time, Stephen slept without dreams.              


End file.
